The Avenger
by Dance Elle Dance
Summary: My name is Amber. My parents were killed on a military mission to Sector 16 in the New Mexico desert. No one told me what happened, but I saw their bodies. There is something bad out there, and I am going to go find it. And kill it. GoggleAmber, AU
1. Normalcy

_**Disclaimer: **__I don't own The Hills Have Eyes._

_**Summary: My name is Amber. My parents were killed on a military mission to Sector 16 in the New Mexico desert. No one told me what happened, but I saw their bodies. There is something bad out there, and I am going to go find it. And kill it. GoggleAmber, AU**_

_In honor of Friday the 13__th__, here is a new fic! Ironically enough, not one for the movie of the same name. And, I know I shouldn't, but I really wanted to write this. I hope that y'all enjoy this little fic. The idea just got in my head and wouldn't come out! I would love it if y'all reviewed and gave me opinions and whatnot. Always means a lot. Anyway, please enjoy!_

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**The Avenger  
****Chapter One: Normalcy**

* * *

I stared at myself in the mirror.

I hardly recognized the person who stared back.

It sounds like the most clichéd thing to say, but it was the truth. After much strife, I was a brunette again. Sure, that sounds like a silly accomplishment, but it was the meaning behind it that I was proud of.

People always said I looked like the perfect combination of my parents, with my mother's dark hair and my father's blue eyes. I decided to rebel in my last years of high school by dying my hair a bright blonde. Looking back on it now, I wonder why. I had nothing but kind, loving parents who would've given me the world if they could have, it seemed stupid to want to look different from them. Sure, they were gone a lot - army stuff - but they never failed to call or send a letter.

I chalked it up to wanting to be different. Everyone else at school was a brunette - well, most everyone. Blondes were few and far between, and I wanted to stand out. I still remember my parents reaction when they saw what I had done to my hair. The very thought of their shocked faces brought a smile to my face.

Of course, now the smile is followed by a sharp pang to my chest.

I looked at myself in the mirror, studying myself for a bit longer as I towel-dried my hair. I sighed and tossed the empty box of hair dye back into the trash. I was glad to no longer be blonde, to no longer have to deal with the comments that came with my hair color. I was glad to look more like…myself now. For various reasons.

I contemplated jumping back in the shower just to make sure I got all the residual dye out, but decided against it. Still rubbing my hair with the towel, I opened the bathroom door and entered the hallway.

I planned on sneaking off to the spare room I had been provided with as of late, hopefully without disturbing anyone else. The Martinez's were always welcoming. They had been friends with my parents; their daughter Missy and I practically grew up in the sandbox together.

I truly didn't deserve to have a friend with such a nice family, people that were so understanding about my plight that they automatically cleaned out their guest room and wouldn't allow me to say no to their generosity.

I felt bad for it, of course. Taking up a space in their home, eating their food, and just generally living there. I knew I shouldn't. Missy had told me time and time again that she was happy to give me a place to stay, and that I shouldn't even think that I was a burden to them. I still couldn't help myself. The thoughts were there, as loud and incessant as a hive of bees.

I turned into my room, opening the door to find Clyde Martinez sitting on the bed, staring at me with his huge, brown eyes.

"'mber." He grinned.

"What are your stinky feet doing on my bed, kid?" I asked playfully, knocking his knobby little knees with my knuckles.

He pointed at my hair. "Why'd ya do that?"

I shrugged, not wanting to give such a young child my true answer, one that would no doubt make his dreams become nightmares. "Wanted a change."

Clyde gave a smile. He was such a sweet kid I was prone to cavities every time I was near him. He was Missy's five year old son and reason for being as well as one of my favorite people in the world. I was at the hospital when he was born, despite the fact that Missy was two years older than me and had him when she was sixteen. I watched him as he gave Missy and her parents hell in his terrible twos, watched as he evolved into the kind boy he was now.

"Mommy told me to get you," he stated in the childlike bluntness of his. "Dinner's ready."

Letting out a sigh, I adjusted the waistband of my pajama bottoms when I noticed my oversized, baggy shirt had gotten tangled in it. "Okay. Lead the way."

I ran a hand through my hair and watched as Clyde rushed out of the room and down the stairs. A smile passed over my face and I followed him.

"_Johnson_."

I spun around, hearing the laughing voice of my best friend and confidant. Missy was staring at me with a large grin on her face - a rare sight - and flicked at a lock of her dark hair. "What's up with that?"

"She wanted a change, Mommy." Clyde sped up and grasped his mother's hand. "I'm hungry."

"Okay, okay." She smiled. The only time she truly smiled was around the people she was close to, like Clyde and her parents and a select few friends.

I found that I couldn't remember the last time I truly smiled and meant it.

We entered the dining room and I automatically felt my stomach growl. The scent of food was thick in the air. Chicken of some kind, heavy spices, vegetables. Sophia Martinez's cooking was to die for. I'd probably give my right arm to be able to cook like her - then again, being armless wasn't necessarily good for cooking.

Missy's mother was placing the food in the center of the table, while her father Luis was conversing with her in Spanish. Missy's brother Daniel sat at the table, his fingers twitching with the desire to get at the food.

It was all enough for my chest to ache, as if an invisible fist - real and destructive and hating - had punched through me.

Clyde rushed over and jumped in his seat. "Smells good!"

Sophia smiled gently down at Clyde, who beamed back. She then focused her gaze on me, standing in the doorway and looking quite out of place. Her eyes immediately found my hair. "Amber! What have you done?"

"Dyed my hair," I pointed out lamely.

Her shock faded away for a moment, and then she smiled. "You do look so much like your parents."

At that point, I faded out.

Reality slipped from me like water through desperate fingers, and I found events playing through my mind as if I were watching a movie.

The last time I spoke to my parents - over video chat, their smiling faces laughing at a joke I had told.

The phone call I got a day later.

The way my feet felt as I walked to the morgue.

"_Do you need a moment to collect yourself, miss?"_

The coroner flipping the sheets back, revealing my parents' faces, lifeless and drained.

And _mutilated._

Cuts and gashes and things that I _know _didn't align with the story the army gave me were the first things I had seen. Pale, white faces, still and unnaturally peaceful looking. Had it not been for the ragged, crude marks on them, I would have thought they were sleeping, as cliché as that sounded.

The coroner looked at me as if I were something particularly sad. I think he knew what he saw in my eyes. The look of disbelief. I might not have been a medical major like Missy, but I knew what their wounds were supposed to look like, if they had truly died like the army said they had. These were ragged cuts, inflicted by a crude blade. More than one type. Bruises from fists, different sizes. Maybe more than one person was involved.

_An accident, _they said.

No.

_No._

This was no accident.

As if knowing what was going through my mind, the coroner had looked at me, his eyes sincere and grave in his wrinkled face, and said just a few words - the words that would confirm my suspicions.

"_Don't do anything rash."_

"Amber."

I snapped back to reality, looking at the face of my best friend. She was hovering in front of me, looking concerned.

"I'm fine," I told her, moving to sit down at the table.

The coroner didn't tell me much, but the way he looked at me and his mannerisms confirmed what I knew.

My parents' deaths - and all of those in their squad - were no accident. No stray bomb or whatever the hell they were talking about did this to them. They gave me practically no answers, and those wounds were clearly inflicted by another being.

I had found my parents' squad leader's number. His name was Jeffrey, and he was as intense as they come. However, I was able to get a little information out of him. His only provided me with a few words. Words that sounded distinctly like a warning. Words that I couldn't forget, said in his deep baritone.

"_Sector 16 in New Mexico. That's where the accident happened." _He had sounded haunted, as if recalling something horrifying. _"I can't tell you any more than that."_

The internet is a lovely thing. I had a map with the area marked, and the quickest route to get there, folded neatly in the desk drawer in my spare bedroom. The room that I was supposed to be inhabiting during the summer. The whole summer. And then I would enact my plan. I would turn twenty in just a few measly days. A belated birthday celebration was better than none.

I looked at Clyde, his eyes bright and innocent. _Lucky_. He knows nothing of the pain and suffering that the human body can be put through and still survive. He knows nothing of the things that are out there. Though miles and miles away, those things could take his family away from him. Just like they did mine.

His earlier words rang though my head.

"_Why'd ya do that?"_

I dyed my hair because I wanted a change, I had told him. I kept the real reason hidden within me, held close to my chest, only being thought of in the most intimate of moments when I was alone and had nothing to lose by letting myself have these thoughts.

I knew two things for sure.

My parents weren't in an accident. Their deaths were purposeful.

And, when I found their killers, I was going to do the same thing they did to my family.

I returned my hair to normal because I want whoever murdered my parents to _know_ that they won't get away with it. I want them to _know_ that they can never do anything like that again.

Most of all, I wanted to see their faces when they glimpse upon mine - looking eerily similar to their last two victims - before I _end _them.

* * *

_**End Chapter One.**_


	2. Gunslinger

_**Disclaimer: **__I don't own The Hills Have Eyes._

_Thanks to __**Berry's Ambitions**__, __**LivingDeadDollQueen**__, __**Little Pink Neko**__, and __**nigthofdoom **__for their awesome reviews! I'm really happy that the first chapter was liked by y'all! So, sorry for the lengthy wait for an update, but here it is! I would love to hear everyone's thoughts and whatnot! Thanks so much for reading!_

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**The Avenger  
****Chapter Two: Gunslinger**

* * *

"Would you stop that?"

My current annoyance looked at me with incredulous eyes. His large feet were propped on one of my recently washed pillows, and he was casually throwing my prized volleyball from senior year - the one I had the whole team sign - in the air as if it were nothing special. He gave it one last throw and I caught it before it entered his awaiting grasp.

"Respect, please?"

"_Find out what it means to me._"

"…no." I stared at him blankly. "No singing. Not ever."

"Aretha would be proud."

"Aretha would be _ashamed._"

Daniel looked at me with a shit-eating grin. It was amazing, how he could get underneath my skin almost as easily as he did Missy's. I rolled my eyes and placed the volleyball on the floor by the bed. It made a slight thump as it connected with the wooden floor.

"What's got you all antsy today, gorgeous?" he asked, waggling his eyebrows at me. "You meeting that boyfriend of yours today?"

"Crank is not my boyfriend," I told him, crossing my arms.

"You're getting awfully defensive of someone who's _not your boyfriend_," he mimicked my voice perfectly on the last few words.

I scowled at him.

"That ruins your looks, you know."

"Like I care."

Daniel sat up and swung his long legs off the side of my bed. He was always patient with me, for some reason. I knew my moods were particularly dark as of late, but sometimes I tried to be lighter. For some other reason, I felt like Daniel could take it. Like he wouldn't treat me as someone who needed _treatment _for what they were going through. As in, a shrink. I remember the grief counselor I was required to visit. Remembered the look on his face as he took in the dark circles underneath my eyes, the bitten cuticles of my nails, my unkempt hair. He had wanted me to go to a shrink. And I refused.

I would deal with my own problems.

A knock at the door downstairs echoed through the entire house. Missy's parents were off at work, while Missy herself had taken Clyde to the zoo for the day. She had asked if I wanted to go with, but I knew she just wanted the day for her and her little man. Thus, I was stuck in the house with Daniel for the entire day until my meeting with Crank.

I supposed Crank was here earlier than I thought.

I grabbed my purse and set off down the stairs, making my way through the house as if it were my own. Daniel followed. I could hear his clumsy footsteps behind me, heavy even only in socks.

Arriving at the front door, I saw that it was, indeed, Crank standing there, arms swinging lamely at his sides, his brow furrowed. He wore a simple t-shirt and jeans, looking very odd out of his fatigues. I opened the door and gave him an awkward smile. All my smiles felt awkward lately.

"Nice hair," he greeted casually, shoving his hands into his pockets. I rolled my eyes.

"Hey, shortstack." Daniel grinned.

"I can still whoop your ass, kid."

"Bring it on."

"Hey, now," I told them both. I then stared at Crank. "You ready to go?"

Crank's eyes never left Daniel's. "Maybe we should bring your little boyfriend, too?"

Daniel snickered. I couldn't blame him. The irony was almost smothering.

"Nah, I'll let you two lovebirds have at it."

* * *

The sound of the gunshot ringing out was hidden by the earmuffs I had securely placed on my head. The jerk of the gun wasn't as jarring now; it was almost comforting. I didn't want to think about what that thought meant about my current mental state. Good thing I never told anyone what I was really thinking anymore. Wouldn't want to be _forced_ to see that shrink, now would I?

I emptied my clip into the target across the range. It was both hit and miss. After all this practice, I still wasn't the best shot. I had finally taught myself to not close one eye when firing. Crank had gotten on to me numerous times for that, saying that that interfered with my aim.

The last bullet shot through the center of the bull's eye. I let a gasp escape my lips at the sight and bit back the excited exclamation that would have torn from my throat. Lowering the gun, I watched as the target itself started to skim toward me on the overhead cable. I looked at the man drawn on the large paper in awe, stared at the holes punched in the target on his chest.

An uncontrollable giggle escaped before I could stamp it down.

I took off the protective glasses as well as the earmuffs and then stared. The grin on my face was apparent.

"Oh, your first bull's eye," Crank said, walking over. He was watching my whole session with the precision of a hawk, looking for anything to correct. "Congrats." He was rough around the edges most of the time, but he did have his moments where he could resemble a human being.

"Thanks!" I said, a bit out of breath for some reason. "Oh, that is so awesome!"

This earned me a smile. He was always reluctant with his smiles, so I found this to be a huge accomplishment. "I really have no corrections today. You improved a lot." He clapped a hand on my shoulder. "Ready to get embarrassed?"

I wrinkled my nose at him. Crank walked over to the side of the range put up for him and grabbed the gun off the nearby table. He adjusted his earmuffs and put on the protective goggles over his eyes. And he was off.

Shots rang through the air in quick succession, each and every one hitting the bull's eye or close to it. I was amazed at his ferocity and his talent. Every single time this would happen. Crank would insist I go first and then he would _school me_ like this. He was done in seconds and had the target brought up to him. He turned and grinned at me. Now that was normal - a gloating smile. Pure and utter Crank.

"I want to go again," I told him.

"We've gone twice already," he said. "And I'm hungry. Lunch?"

"I'm broke."

"My treat, assassin."

I gave a smile at that. Oh, he had _no _idea.

* * *

Lunch with Crank was easy. Unlike with any other guys, I felt like I could be myself around him. It was probably because I'd known him since I was little, and he had been good friends with my parents. He sat near me at their funeral, watched as they handed me their folded-up flags before the coffins were put in the ground.

I shivered.

"Wimp," he commented.

"You're the one that insisted we get ice cream," I told him, shoving the cookies-and-cream coated spoon into my mouth. Good thing that was a valid excuse. I didn't want him knowing just what I had been thinking before…

I was more chatty than usual, I realized. I supposed I always got pretty chatty after all of the shooting lessons. Probably the adrenaline rush of it all, the fact that I was just one step closer to achieving my goal. Though I wished Crank would relent and start teaching me hand-to-hand skills, I was content with this right now. When I brought it up to him, he said, "Easy there. One thing at a time. Who are you going to go fight?"

Again, if he had any idea…

Crank turned his car into the driveway of Missy's house. I sighed.

"Seriously," I said to him, "you could at least teach me how to break someone's nose. That's something I would love to practice on Daniel."

Crank chuckled at that, putting the car into park. "I'll teach you hand-to-hand stuff as soon as you get the hang of the gun. I still don't see why - "

"Hey." I shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant about it. "I'm heading to college. An innocent girl, out in the world, needs to learn to defend herself."

"Still. _New Mexico_? I don't see why you would want to go to school there." Crank scowled. It was good to know that he was still in the dark about the actual reason I was going to New Mexico soon. Not just to "get used to the campus" but for another thing. Something infinitely less innocent.

"I _just _want to learn how to crack someone's nasal bridge."

Crank laughed loudly, the rich sound echoing through the cab of his truck. "Fine, fine. That's not too difficult. Let's go inside."

I climbed out of the truck and marched my way to the front door. It looked like Daniel was the only one at the house still, which I didn't have a problem with. A subject to practice on, I suppose. As cute as he was, he still got my pillows dirty.

Daniel himself was sitting in the living room. Or, I should say, lying on the couch with his feet over the back of it, upside down as he watched some kind of movie - _Susperia_, maybe?

I jabbed him in the sole of his foot with the end of my spoon. He let out a squeal and jerked his feet away from me as he rolled over and off the couch in a display of the overdramatic. I looked at him with a wry smile and he said, "Okay, bring it on, _chica_."

Crank snickered and took the empty cup of ice cream from my hands and threw it away. "Where's your room here, anyway?" he asked.

Daniel made an immature sound, thick with implications. I wanted to throttle him.

"Up the stairs," I told him. "Here."

I stepped in front of him, leading him upstairs and in the direction of my room. Daniel didn't follow. That was good. I wanted to surprise him when I learned my new cartilage-cracking skill.

We turned into my bedroom, and I noticed that it had been ransacked. I should have known that Daniel had gotten _Susperia _from somewhere. That somewhere had been from my own personal movie collection. Another reason to break his nose.

Crank turned to face me. "Okay. This is what you do. Say I'm coming up behind you. All you have to do is this." He came at me, hand extended, the heel of his palm jutting upward. "Make sure you catch under their nose like this, with this part of your palm, and then shove upward as hard as you fucking can."

"Okay," I said, determination settling in my bones. "Okay."

Crank moved closer to demonstrate to me. He came forward sharply, and I flinched backward, thinking that he truly was going to break my nose. His eyes were hard and his expression was almost unreadable. I felt my mistake as soon as my elbow scraped against the edge of my desk, raking along my skin. I felt blood pool around it immediately. He only laughed at my misfortune.

"Band-Aids?"

I examined my elbow. "In the desk drawer there."

There was my second mistake.

Crank was mumbling to himself, "You know, if you shove hard enough, you can get a piece of broken bone into the brain and actually kill the person. But I'd hate to imagine you a killer - "

He paused, looking with wide eyes, _gaping_. His hand reached into the drawer, not pulling out the box of bandages, but the map to New Mexico with Sector 16 circled in red.

My breath caught in my throat.

"What the fuck is this?" he asked, his voice deadly calm. He wasn't outright yelling, which was his normal response, so I took it as a bad sign.

I steeled myself for his reaction. "Just what you think it is."

Crank seemed at a loss for words, which was a rarity. I was pretty sure this was worse than when he was yelling at me for something stupid. "You can't - "

"I am. No one is going to stop me."

"I can fucking _make you stay here_."

"I'm not a child - "

"Well, you're damn well acting like one!"

I quieted for a moment, opting to look at my hands. "You've known all along. About what happened to them…"

"Fuck, we saw the bodies. I don't know what happened, but I do know a cover-up when I see one."

The room was quiet, then. I wasn't sure what I was doing, but I had to prod more.

"Please understand why I have to do this. What would you do?"

Crank didn't like that; he knew he'd do the exact same thing, except with less planning. "Your parents wouldn't want this."

"My parents are dead, Crank." My voice was harsh, like the desert where my family had breathed their last. "This is for them."

Crank quieted, clearly lost for words. He stared at me for a moment, as if seeing someone else, and then looked to my side, down at the spot where I had placed a framed picture of me, my mother, and my father. It was a day last summer; we had all gone out to get snowballs. Our mouths were stained a variety of colors as we grinned at the camera. We had been so happy…

I wasn't sure what made Crank say what he said next - he usually was much more stubborn, especially when it came to me - but his next words shocked me as much as they sent a rush of adrenaline spiking through my veins.

"Fine," he mumbled, stroking a finger along the picture frame, "but I'm going with you."

* * *

_**End Chapter Two.**_


	3. Surprises

_**Disclaimer: **__I don't own The Hills Have Eyes._

_Thanks so much to __**Berry's Ambitions**__, __**Little Pink Neko**__, and __**GingerBites **__for their awesome reviews! Woo woo woo! Next chapter! It took a while to write this one. It's rather long, but I wanted to get all this filler in one chapter. Though, I'm not sure what is filler and what isn't, since some important facts are revealed. But still. I hope it's not dull. I really had a fun time writing it - and this whole fic in general. I hope that everyone enjoys this new chapter! Reviews are always welcome!_

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**The Avenger  
****Chapter Three: Surprises**

* * *

Waking up a few days later with a cake on my bed wasn't the day I had originally envisioned.

"Happy birthday, hotstuff!" Daniel crowed from my bedside.

Opening my eyes, I was assaulted with the image of a cake sitting innocently on the mattress beside me. It was a cute thing, white icing with the words "Happy Birthday Amber!" iced in orange. Orange polka dots adorned the rest of the cake. I gave a weak-feeling smile. At least they remembered my favorite color.

"Daniel!" I heard Mrs. Martinez call from downstairs. Her voice was scolding. "I told you not to wake her up yet! ...and did you bring my cake up there?"

I stared around the room, my head feeling heavy. I was lucky that my head was empty of dreams. The blankness of my mind throughout the night was a pleasant gift, especially since the only dreams I had been capable of having were nightmares. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and then realized that Daniel was the only one in my room. "Ew, get out."

"Good morning to you too, birthday girl." He grinned, unapologetic.

I threw a pillow at his head.

Daniel said a few curses in Spanish, but they lacked any intensity. He clutched his head and looked at me and said, "Mom's got lunch started."

"Okay," I told him, wary. I watched him pick up the cake and leave the room. That was probably the most random moment of my life.

I rose out of my bed, feeling tired despite my dreamless sleep. It seemed, these days, that I never got enough sleep. Even when I slept through the night - those times were rare - I was always tired. I always woke up with the same dark circles underneath my eyes, and I knew that just by seeing those it made the Martinez family feel nervous. I couldn't help it though. I tried my best to cover up, using make up and various other products, but none of it really had the effect desired. It was almost as if my skin was mad at me for trying to disguise the problems I was having.

I looked at the clock. Eleven in the morning. I felt embarrassed for sleeping so late, but it was something that I was known for around the house. I never used to be like this, but ever since my parents...well, I've been sleeping more and more and yet getting no rest whatsoever.

I brushed my hair, brushed my teeth. Got dressed as quickly as I could. Nothing elaborate. Just a blue t-shirt and a pair of jeans. Converse. I pulled a long necklace made of fragments of black plastic, strung together by a silver chain, just to make it look like I was trying, and then walked to the door. I couldn't let them think that anything was wrong with me.

_Even though this is your first birthday without your parents._

I stalled in front of the door, my hand paused above the knob, just as that thought ripped through me. I had tried to put that to the back of my mind every single day of this month, and then there that traitorous thought was. I felt a pressure on my eyes and my throat started to hurt. _No, _I told myself. _Do not cry. You will not cry._ I hadn't cried since the day of the funeral, choosing to be more numb than anything. And I would not start now. I would not allow the Martinezes to pity me, though I knew that they probably already did.

I just didn't want to give them more reason to.

I opened the door and stepped out of my room, trying to make as little noise as possible. It was stupid-sounding, but I had been practicing this skill ever since I had decided what I was going to do. I knew that stealth was a valuable skill to have. Being able to sneak up on your enemy before they got the jump on you.

Sighing, I made my way down the stairs. The door closed heavily behind me.

"Shh! Everyone!" a voice hushed from downstairs.

So much for practicing my stealth.

I didn't really think of why anyone would be hushing people. Honestly, I only expected the Martinez family to be the ones at my birthday. Maybe that wasn't even directed at me. Maybe Clyde was asleep and Missy was being all motherly, as usual. Wouldn't be the first time. Though, that voice didn't sound like hers. It sounded kind of like Mr. Martinez, which was slightly weird since he was one of the most laid-back people in the history of forever.

I made it to the first floor, pausing for a bit before I turned to go to the kitchen.

No one was there.

I cocked my head to the side, curious. I had just heard voices, and then there was no one here. I turned to go into the living room, feeling like I was being pranked. All of my muscles tensed. I called out, like some stupid horror movie chick, "Missy? Mrs. Martinez?"

A small hand grasped my own. I jumped at the contact, but then looked down and saw Clyde. His large eyes were excited. "'mber...this way."

Blinking, I figured I had no choice but to follow him.

He tugged me along. This felt familiar. His innocence was almost enough to distract me from the thoughts from before.

Almost.

Clyde led me to the sliding glass door that led out into the backyard. Before I could look out the glass, he told me, "Oh yeah! You're supposed to close your eyes, 'mber."

I shoved my hands over my eyes, just to go along with him. He then grabbed the hem of my shirt and tugged me in the direction of the door. I really hoped he didn't ram me into the glass - wouldn't be the first time I'd met face-first with that infamous sliding glass door.

I heard the door being slid open, and then the sound of feet rustling in the grass, some on the wooden deck that the glass door led out on to.

"Open 'em!" Clyde said, poking me in the belly. I barked out a laugh - I'd always been ticklish - and then opened my eyes.

"Happy birthday, Amber!" came the chimed greeting.

I stopped in my tracks, my arms falling uselessly at my sides.

I had expected just a quiet day with the Martinezes, but...nothing like this.

Orange streamers decorated the fenced-in backyard, twining around the wooden planks like ivy. Balloons of the same color were tied to almost every available surface - on the backs of chairs, on the sides of the rather large above-ground pool that was off to the side of the deck, to the railing around the deck. Everywhere. I felt that awful tightening of my throat and forced the oncoming tears back. I forced myself to smile, to become numb from the pain of my lost parents. I had to. It was the only option, or I would become an unfunctioning mess.

I hadn't realized I'd been muttering anything, but...apparently I had. "Oh...my gosh," was repeated over and over.

Missy, her mother and father, and Daniel were grouped around the table. Presents were piled high in the chairs around it, while the cake was dead center, and around it was chips and homemade dip, tortillas and a bowl of shredded chicken along with smaller bowls of sour cream, salsa, guacamole, black beans. Everything you could think of. Paper plates and napkins were set just offset from the cake. A bowl of punch was out to the side.

The food was not the only surprise.

"Hey, li'l Johnson," came a voice. Before I knew it, an arm had gone across my neck and a mouth was pressed against the top of my head.

I elbowed the offender lightly in the ribs. "Stump. You jerk."

Stump smiled at me, showing teeth. He adjusted his ever-present bandana and then laughed. I hated to admit it, but another familiar face was pleasant. I looked around the backyard, seeing other close friends of my parents - Delmar, Spitter, Napoleon. They all looked happy to see me, and I felt that way for them as well. Though they reminded me awfully of my parents, it was nice to see a few of the faces that I knew almost as well as Missy's family.

I was missing someone, though. Someone that I thought would have been here, if every one of his other friends was there as well. It took me a while, but I finally found Crank, standing in the far corner beside one of Mrs. Martinez's potted plants. He smiled over at me, but I felt that it was forced.

"One more year and then I'm taking you to a bar," Stump teased, shoving my shoulder.

_I might be dead before then..._

Mrs. Martinez came forward, pressing her lips to the corner of my head and then shooing Stump out of the way. "These soldiers...I hope they will not corrrupt you."

I gave a laugh. "They try, but they're not successful."

I hadn't realized how much I had missed these guys until they were right here with me. It was almost enough to get me emotional, but I tried to stamp it down. I found myself smiling more, which was a welcome thing. Both because I didn't have to fake anything and because it kind of helped my cover of "coping."

"Let's let the birthday girl eat first," Mrs. Martinez pressed her hands to my shoulders and moved me to the front of the line. I heard Daniel complain. I stuck my tongue out at him - all the better to keep up my front.

I piled my plate with food. I stuffed the tortilla with everything provided, and it was decided that we would save the cake for last, after the presents were opened. Really, I hadn't even expected to get anything for this year's birthday. It was all too much...

Everyone greeted me with a wish that I have a happy birthday. I got a hug from Delmar, a kiss on the cheek from Napoleon - which, under other circumstances, would have made me blush - and a strong embrace from Spitter, who had always been sensitive, despite everything else.

It was...nice. Oddly so.

I went to go sit down at one of the chairs provided. I balanced the plate of food in my lap as I did so, and tried to watch my surroundings. I could hear Stump's loud mouth all the way over here.

"Missy," he said, sidling up to her. "How's that tattoo treating you?"

Missy rubbed her forearm self-consciously. "Fine. Why? You didn't lace the ink with arsenic, did you?"

He ignored her. "You know I give a discount to pretty girls," he said, waggling his eyebrows. "In case you ever want to - "

Mr. Martinez showed up at that point. "Please...do not doodle on my daughter again," he said, almost as if the words pained him.

Missy rolled her eyes and playfully shoved her father's shoulder. "C'mon, it's not that bad. Stump did a good job on it!" She brandished the tattoo as if it were a were a cross and he was a vampire. He hissed and backed away accordingly.

"Mr. M, I have a license to tat anyway," he drawled, throwing an arm around Missy's shoulders. "It's not like I'm one of those hacks that use random equipment riddled with tetanus."

"I'd sure hope not," Missy said bluntly.

I laughed at that around a mouthful of tortilla. I was never any good at folding them. All the condiments were slopping all over the plate, falling out from the open end of the foodstuff, missing my lap by mere inches. It was good, though. If only I was as good at cooking as Mrs. Martinez was...

"Pathetic, chica," a familiar voice chided. A finger smeared itself across the pile of sour cream that had fallen out of the tortilla. I looked up just as Crank was sticking his finger in his mouth.

I wrinkled my nose at him. "Gross, bro."

He scoffed a laugh. It was rough sounding, but genuine, if not filled with a bit of tension. I could see it, really. In the set of his shoulders, the furrow between his brows. It was almost as if we were already in Sector 16 and not at Missy's house.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"I have to speak with you," he said, his eyes darting around the place. If I didn't know any better, I'd joke that he looked like he was going to make a drug deal with me. "About...stuff."

"Geez, you sound shady," I said, not able to help myself. It was strange, how this atmosphere was helping my mood.

Crank lifted his head and nodded at someone. I looked up and saw Delmar walking towards us with a grave sense of purpose in his normally warm eyes. He passed Daniel, who gave him a look before talking to Stump - most likely about tattoos for the rest of the Martinez family, since the artist himself seemed so sweet on his sister. Mr. Martinez quickly grabbed his elbow and steered him towards the food table. I felt a reluctant smile creep on my face.

Delmar arrived next to Crank just a few seconds later. I felt weird being the only one sitting down so I stood up, placing my plate of food in the seat of my chair. We all stood around it, as if we were homeless people standing around a trash can.

"I'll let you start, 'mar," Crank said, clapping Delmar on the shoulder. One would never guess it, but Crank and Delmar were best friends. They had always been close, which was kind of odd to me. Delmar was quiet and respectful, while Crank was loud and crass most of the time. Opposites attract, I guess, even in the case of friendships.

Delmar sighed, rolling his thin shoulders, and then looked at me. It was remarkable that he was so young, and yet probably the most respected individual of the soldiers here. "Crank told me what's happening."

It didn't take me long to realize what he meant. A spike of anger shot through me. I glared at Crank. "_Why_?"

Crank exhaled through his nose, reminding me of a bull. Not inappropriate, considering his personality.

Delmar lowered his voice even more. "I think it's stupid, what you're doing, but Crank says you're adamant about going and that no amount of talking could get you to stop. And he's going with you." He gave a disapproving look towards his friend. "It's not my job to stop you, but to notify people if things get out of hand."

"Notify...?" I asked skeptically.

"My job is to tell people if you don't come back within a reasonable amount of time."

"Which is..."

"Two weeks, at the most," Delmar reported clinically.

"_What_? I - "

"I also thought two people is a little under-manned, so..." Crank trailed off.

"Say hello to your new travel buddy!" Stump clapped me on the shoulder.

"Oh, _what the hell_?" I whispered loudly, not wanting the party to be disrupted by my declaration of anger. "I had _reluctantly _agreed to let Crank come with, but now we're the _Swiss Family Robinson_, going on an adventure?"

When had my solo revenge mission become a _group _effort?

"I'd go for more _Moby Dick_," Stump said. "As in we're about to kick some major ass."

"You've never read a book in your life, dude," Crank bit out.

"I've seen the movie!"

"That was _Jaws_!"

I buried my face in my hands. Everything was spiraling out of control. I was so...pissed off. Mad at Crank, for discovering my mission, for telling everyone. Mad at Stump, for deciding to come along. Mad at Delmar, for being so damned rational.

_I _was supposed to be the only one putting myself in danger!

A dreadful thought came over me. "Does everyone else know?"

Quiet answered me, but then Delmar broke it. "Just us. Including Napoleon and Spit."

"Not the Martinezes?"

"No," Delmar continued. "Not unless you don't come back in two weeks."

"Fine," I snapped, folding my arms and feeling childish. Anyone else would have found their concern sweet, but I was just angry at all the interference. "This is ridiculous."

"Not as ridiculous as you wanting to go in the first place," Crank snapped right back, unafraid of hurting my feelings. I didn't care. I welcomed the verbal barbs. Wasn't nearly as painful as anything else I'd have to go through.

"You're not going to change my mind," I told him.

He gave an exasperated sigh. "I know. Why else do you think I went to all this?"

"To piss me off?"

"No," he said, his voice deadly serious. "You had the closure of at least knowing your parents were dead. The Martinez family treats you like one of their own. If we don't come back, would you want to burden them with not knowing what happened? Don't you think they deserve to know, at least, where you went?"

Guilt settled over me. I hadn't thought about them. Hadn't thought about the fact that I was leaving them for good, most likely.

"Everyone! Let's sing happy birthday to the birthday girl!" Daniel called out. His loud mouth was finally good for something.

I was shoved to the table, forced to sit down behind the cake. Missy, playfully, put a cone-shaped birthday hat on my head. I swatted her hand away jokingly. The chorus of the familiar birthday song soon permeated the air, and I cringed as Daniel tried to outsing everyone.

The song ended. Mrs. Martinez pressed a motherly hand to my shoulder, and I felt a strange wave of homesickness wash over me. "Happy birthday, Amber."

"Now blow out the candles!" Spitter chimed from his place in the back.

I scoffed to myself before leaning over the cake. Two candles shaped in the form of a two and a zero were placed on the cake, already lit. They turned out to be "joke candles" and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't blow them out. Everyone laughed at my expense.

Except Crank.

I kind of wanted to punch him. Couldn't he at least be a bit more collected about this whole thing? At the rate he was going, he was going to notify everyone that something was wrong, based solely on the expression on his face. Poker must not be his game of choice.

I tried to ignore him. The cake was cut, and everyone started eating as they watched me open my presents. It was ridiculous, the amount they got me. Especially since...

I ignored that thought and tore into the presents. One after one. Big packages, small packages. Clothes from Mr. and Mrs. Martinez. A gorgeous, hardcover copy of _Jane Eyre _from Missy - only she knew how much I truly loved to read. Daniel gave me nail polish - "I thought it was girly! You're a girl!" - even though I've never painted my nails in my life. A very nice pair of earrings and a jewelry box from Spitter. A collection of horror movies from Stump - at least five, most likely gotten out of the bargain bin at Wal-Mart. A hardcover copy of _Frankenstein_ from Napoleon - he must have had no clue what to get me and had asked Missy for advice.

I was doing fine with my composure until I opened Delmar's gift. He had gotten me a gorgeous silver charm bracelet, already with three charms attached. It looked expensive. Awed, I turned it over in my hands, the charms ringing out to me: a bird, a book, and a pair of tiny army boots.

I almost lost it there, with Delmar's thoughtful, insightful gift.

My favorite animal, my favorite activity, and army boots for the army brat.

I looked at all the presents then: the books, the horror movies, the earrings and turquoise-studded jewelry box, the clothes that were exactly my style. Barring the nail polish, all these things were _me_.

These people knew and cared for me more than I realized. I don't know why I ever thought otherwise. I guess, somewhere, I thought that because my parents...weren't here...that my birthday would be lackluster. That everyone would get everything wrong, but...they had all hit the nail on the head with the items I liked. I should have figured. They've known me almost my entire life.

_But your parents still aren't here._

I tried to stamp down the emotion I was feeling. It was so strong that I thought it would bowl me over and sweep me away, like seaweed on a strong tide. I gave Delmar my thanks, my voice was rougher than I wanted it to be, so much so that Missy sat down beside me and pressed her palm to my shoulder.

"One more," Mrs. Martinez said, obviously realizing that I was close to losing it for the first time since the funeral. She pressed a small, crudely wrapped, present into my hands. "From Crank."

I swallowed, my throat hurting at the action. The familiar stinging pressed the backs of my eyes. _No, no, no. Do not cry. _

I forced my hands to not shake as I unwrapped the paper - it didn't take much, since Crank was obviously not that skilled of a wrapper. The box was small, and I took the lid off, revealing a stunning silver necklace resting on a piece of jewelry padding. It was so tiny and delicate that I was afraid to pick it up, but I did, gently, so I could look it over.

The necklace was of a woman, her hands folded in prayer in front of her with a sword, angled sideways, resting between her arms and body. She was dressed in armor, her hair falling down her back in a braid. Simple and beautiful and elegant. The chain was so thin I was afraid it would snap at the slightest twitch of my fingers.

Everyone looked at Crank, then, myself the last. I met his eyes, knowing that mine were obviously full of the emotion that I had tried to keep at bay.

"Damn, Crank," Stump elbowed him. "Who knew you were a _sensitive guy_?"

Stump's efforts to change the mood failed, and Crank's eyes never left mine.

"Saint Joan of Arc," he explained. "For protection."

"It's..." I trailed off, unsure of what to say, touched by his unexpected gesture. "Thank you."

Crank shrugged, as if it were no big deal.

I moved my gaze back to the woman molded from silver, running my fingers along the delicate chain, not concerned about her protecting me at all.

The only thing I hoped was that she would protect everyone else from the fallout of my decisions.

* * *

_**End Chapter Three.**_


	4. Deserter

_**Disclaimer: **__I don't own The Hills Have Eyes._

_Thanks goes to __**Berry's Ambitions**__ for her constant kind words and support. It really means a lot. I know I say this a lot, but it really is nice that you - and the people that have favorited, etc. - stick with my fics. :) This chapter is just a little exposition. The real action happens next chapter, and I am super excited to write it. I really had fun with this, though. It's always nice to write some nice, human moments. Anyway! Please enjoy!_

* * *

**The Avenger  
Chapter Four: Deserter**

* * *

I found that violent music helped me to...relax.

It was odd, I know. Violent music should aid people to let everything out. To just lose themselves and be able to just go crazy without concern of any consequences whatsoever. But, for me, it brought an unmeasurable amount of peace. I shoved shirt after shirt into my suitcase, listening to the rage-inducing sounds of some metal band whose name I couldn't remember. All I knew was that they helped calm me, helped ease me when other things couldn't.

I shoved a pair of my rattiest sweatpants into the suitcase, not even bothering to fold them, when I got a knock on my door.

"Come in," I called, remembering to be courteous and not just go _huh_ like I'd been doing. The door opened slowly, revealing the petite form of Missy in the doorway. I gave her a smile I wasn't feeling, and ushered her in.

"Loud music, huh?" she asked, shutting the door behind her.

I winced a bit, reaching for the remote to my stereo and muting it.

"Sorry," I said. "I hope I wasn't disturbing anyone."

Missy raised a hand. "Mom's in the garden with Clyde. Dad's mowing. Daniel actually _likes _whatever it is that you listen to. Personally, I think he's trying to get on your good side."

I snorted. I didn't even think I _had_ a good side anymore.

"You're really leaving today," she stated, as if in awe of it.

I nodded.

Missy walked over to the bed where my suitcase was, shirts and pants and other garments sticking out haphazardly. She gave a light laugh and dumped everything out. I gave a little yelp and said, "Hey!"

"Did you honestly think I was going to let you go with your stuff packed like _that_?"

I shook my head in awe, pressing a hand to my face. "It's not a big deal, Missy."

It was her turn to snort.

So that was how we spent the time. Chatting, re-packing whatever I packed in the first place. I wasn't sure why I was trying to avoid this the entire day. I had woken up as early as possible, texted Crank and Stump, took a shower, and then began packing. I hadn't spoken to anyone until now, until Missy decided to show up and greet me on my final day in her house.

I would throw things in, uncaring about any kind of order, and Missy would laugh at me and take them out, refolding them more neatly than I'd ever seen anything.

"Maybe _you _should be in the military," I commented.

Missy gave me her patented _look_ and then put another immaculately folded shirt into the suitcase. I promptly tossed several mismatched socks onto it. I heard her let out a curse - at which I laughed - and then started to match the socks accordingly. She was particularly perplexed when she found one sock left by itself, and just handed it to me wordlessly, eyes dark and judging in her face.

"Not my fault you apparently developed OCD in such a short amount of time," I told her, snatching the lone sock and then shoving it back into the drawer. Things were already looking thin around here, and it was then I realized just how much I had packed.

Really, I shouldn't have needed much. Wardrobe changes were probably the last thing on Crank and Stump's minds, but here I was...packing as if I was actually going to give a damn what I looked like.

We packed in silence, the familiarity of long-time friends encircling us. I didn't feel the need to fill the silence with inane chatter, though I did start feeling the familiar stirrings of guilt pressing against my ribcage as I watched as Missy - caring, always caring despite the stern mask she so often wore - walked over to my dresser and picked up the very picture frame I had stared at days earlier, when Crank had discovered my true intentions.

Missy turned to me and walked over to the suitcase. She pressed the picture frame onto the neatly folded clothes - huh, I guess that's why nothing was fitting - and looked at me with a somber smile. "I'm sure they'd want to go with you."

There went that stupid tugging in my chest, yet again. I could not cry. I would not cry. I would not set myself that far back.

So I just nodded at her, letting the lid of the suitcase fall over the image of my parents' smiling faces.

* * *

Crank picked me up at ten o'clock sharp.

He came alone, of course, as to not arouse suspicion as to why _Stump _was coming with us. I was still annoyed with that, and with the fact that all of these people I'd known since forever were sticking their necks out for me. I cursed myself for lack of tact, lack of stealth.

"Hey, shrimp," he greeted as I slung my stuff into the back of his vehicle.

"I'm still taller than you," I reminded him.

Crank growled at me.

I turned to look at the Martinez family, all congregated outside to see me off. I felt that familiar ache of homesickness start to settle within me. I tried to beat it back, tried to beat back all the feelings that started to swirl around in my chest. A maelstrom of loss, vengeance, dismay...

Hope?

Now there was an odd feeling.

It wasn't the airy, light hope that would be more at home in a romantic comedy. It was a strange, dark hope. Hope that maybe blood would stain my hands and relieve this frightening pressure that often arrested my heart.

I shook my head and focused my gaze on the dark eyes of my best friend.

Crank nudged my shoulder. "Go say bye to them, chica."

I closed my eyes, letting a breath slowly inflate my lungs. "Yeah," I whispered in response.

Walking with a sense of purpose I wasn't sure I was supposed to be displaying, I embraced each of the Martinezes in a tight hug.

I wasn't sure if I was the only one feeling the heaviness of the situation until I hugged Missy. She was last, standing off to the side as if she could sense something wrong. Her brows were knitted over her dark eyes, mouth pursed as if in deep thought, but she lightened up as my arms went around her. She whispered in my ear, "You're just going to look at your new college. It's not like you're going to war or anything."

I felt chills go down my spine. If Missy Martinez was anything, it was astute. She could obviously feel the tension in the air as I said goodbye to each one of her family, and was interpreting it for what it was. For a moment, I was frightened she'd prevent me from going just because she was _that good_ at predicting what was going on.

"Yeah," I told her, squeezing her shoulders before parting. "I'll just miss everyone."

"That's what phones are for," Daniel piped up.

I rolled my eyes at him. Before I could say anything snarky in response, I felt a hand against my knee. Small, not even encompassing my kneecap. Looking down, I could see Clyde pressed against his mom's legs, but his tiny fingers ran across my knee in a timid manner, his large eyes cast gleaming up at me.

"You'll come back soon, 'mber?" he asked me.

I just gave him a smile, kneeling and ruffling his hair.

The hungry, vengeful thoughts were one thing - I welcomed them, yearned for them - but lying to a child was the one thing I just could not bring myself to do.

* * *

"Are you serious, Crank? What is this crap?"

We had been riding for only an hour since picking up Stump from his apartment, and this was the first time he had been difficult. Of course it had to do with the music selection. Crank and Stump were on two ends of the spectrum. Hip hop and rock. Jay Z and Foo Fighters. I didn't think this would be the more pressing problem as we sped toward the desert.

I had been delegated to the backseat after of Stump's adamant cry of, "Shotgun! No one can override the claim of shotgun!" And the running that had accompanied it was rather undignified. I wasn't sure why - or how - he was so lighthearted, even in the darkest of circumstances. I found myself wishing that I could be like that, which was a strange thing in and of itself. As far as I knew, no one wanted to be like Stump.

Well, until now.

I shook my head with a reluctant little smirk on my face. It was weird, hearing those two argue like nothing had changed. Almost as if we really were going to the college in New Mexico instead of somewhere completely different.

I tried to ignore the sounds around me. The frantic curse words and the constantly flip-flopping radio station. Kanye to Led Zeppelin, TI to Black Sabbath. It was a constant cycle of stupidity, as far as I was concerned.

I stuffed my earbuds in my ears and turned up the music to some growling, hate-infused band. I couldn't even make out the words. The only thing I could hear was the roar of the guitar, the pounding of the drums, the snarling vocals that were indecipherable by anyone not named Satan.

And yet, a calm rolled over me.

Just as I was starting to question my sanity for the thousandth time, I felt a tap on my shoulder.

I looked up, reluctantly taking the buds from my ears, and saw Stump staring at me with a kind smile. I hadn't realized my surroundings until I heard the buzzing of a speaker to my left. "Sorry, but this is the last fast food joint before we get to tonight's motel - "

"Motel?" I asked, the term jarring me more than the words _fast food_ and how they related to my mission.

"Stump. _Jesus_." Crank slapped a hand over his face and started to curse. The speaker buzzed angrily.

"Motel?" I repeated, completely clueless to this development.

"Yeah, I want a number two, hold the mayo - "

"_Crank!_"

Stump, realizing that I wasn't going to shut up any time soon, lunged into the backseat and clamped a hand over my mouth, muffling any sounds of protest. Crank finished ordering the food - getting my typical order completely right. I hated him for it - and then turned back to me as he eased the vehicle forward behind the next car.

"Motel?" I asked again, feeling somewhat like a parrot. I stretched forward and turned off the godawful music that was blaring from the radio.

Crank sighed, not even bothering to turn around and look at me. "Did you honestly think we were going to drive through the night?"

Honestly, I didn't know what I had been thinking.

I found myself opening and closing my mouth in movements similar to a fish. I ran a hand over my hair, twisting the dark locks in my fingers. "I just wanted to hurry up and..."

"Race to your death," Stump said, oddly somber as he stared at the scattered buildings and smatterings of people around us.

There was a stiffening silence that seemed to lock my bones into place. Crank said nothing, only stared out in front of himself as we moved forward to collect our food. I stared at Stump, hoping beyond hope that this was a dream and that I was actually alone. That my safety was the only thing at jeopardy here, and not the safety of my friends -

Reality slapped me in the face for the hundredth time, mocking me and informing me that I was so, so wrong.

* * *

The motel was awful.

I didn't care, of course, but Stump's first reaction was, "Okay, so if there's a dead hooker under my bed, I'm cutting one of you."

The heavy situation from before had dispersed somewhat. I couldn't distance myself from it as well as Stump could, and Crank had been dreadfully quiet ever since we left Missy's house. I supposed I had been, too, but that was neither here nor there.

"Don't be such a princess," I told him.

In response, he threw a questionable pillow at me. I ducked and it hit Crank. Crank, being the hothead he was, started curing in a myriad of languages, and we all laughed at his expense. The first moment of true lightness experienced by all three of us since we left our starting point.

It was late. Too late at night for any non-sketchy individuals to book a motel room. The woman at the front desk gave us a few odd looks and snickered as we made our way to the room. I didn't even want to know what she was thinking.

"Dibs!" Stump shouted, jumping on one of the two beds that were in this particular room. I watched him with a half-amused expression. The other half was just tired and aching, but I knew if I were to lay down, I wouldn't sleep.

Crank rolled his eyes and moved to sit down on the edge of the bed Stump had tackled. I didn't think any one of us had the will or energy to shower at this point in time, so I just placed my bag on the floor next to the couch.

Letting out a sigh, I sat on the couch and put my face in my hands.

"None of that," Crank said. Suddenly, he was beside me, strong hand hooked around my elbow. "You're sleeping on the bed."

I jerked away from him. "I'm not going to be able to sleep."

Opening my eyes enough to see his serious, yet tired, expression, I gave him the full extent of my scowl. "Crank," I groaned, exasperated and feeling so much like a child it was almost chilling.

He knelt in front of me, placing his hands on my knees. His dark eyes were serious, but I couldn't fathom what he was going to say until he voiced, "A tired soldier doesn't get far, Amber."

It took me a while to understand the gravity of what he was saying - ironically enough, it must have been because I was tired - but once the words settled firmly into my head, I felt a shiver go down my spine.

For what seemed like thousandth time, Crank was right. And I hated him for it.

"Well," I started, "I'm taking the couch."

Crank gave a chuckle. "I'm sure the couch is more sanitary than the beds."

I shrugged.

He leaned forward, as if inspecting something particularly interesting, and then reached out a finger towards my neck. It wasn't until I felt the reassuring weight of St. Joan lift from my chest that I realized what he was looking at. "You're wearing it," he commented before rising to his feet, an indecipherable look on his face.

"Don't see why I wouldn't," I said. I hadn't even remembered putting it on this morning. Probably while listening to the awful vocals of that one band...

Crank gave me a smile - it was small, almost insignificant, but it meant the world in that one moment. That someone was still able to smile at me like that meant more than I could ever imagine.

"Get some sleep," he said softly before stepping back and moving to his own bed. Stump's snoring had already begun to permeate the night.

I didn't even bother changing clothes. I was bone tired, feeling the effects of the day's drive finally catch up to me in the darkness. I supposed Crank was right - he always was. There was no way I could possibly defend myself in the state I was in. Though the pure drive of revenge and the thrill of adrenaline was enough for a short fight, I needed to be there for the long run. I couldn't be taken out early just because I was too stubborn to take a nap when I needed one.

I did nothing to make myself more comfortable. I just twisted my body in the couch, leaning my back against the armrest and making sure that the window was in my line of sight. It was still hard to see the stars because of the random assortment of town lights around us, but the moon was in plain view, only half of what it could be.

I had always enjoyed gazing at the moon and stars, ever since I was a child. This was something I felt familiar with. I could name all of the constellations, trace them with my fingertips even now. I remembered looking up the stories behind the stars, the legends intermixed with images of these remarkable etchings in the sky.

Nostalgia gripped my chest.

I shook my head, ridding myself of the memories. Nearby, I heard Crank's soft breathing, just barely audible next to Stump's massive snores. I felt a smile - bitter, but still a smile - cross my features and settle there.

My fingers wound around the Saint's chain at my neck; it didn't calm me, hardly anything did, but I felt a bit better about my mission.

That was how I fell into the darkness of sleep, plagued by the rights and wrongs and in betweens of what could be considered a suicide mission.

* * *

_**End Chapter Four.**_


	5. Journey

_**Disclaimer: **__I don't own The Hills Have Eyes._

_Update! I figure it's a good way to end the year, lol. I want to express so much gratitude to **Berry's Ambitions** and **hunter-strain13** for their lovely reviews. I really hope that they enjoy this chapter, because it was a joy to write. We're starting to get closer to more major plot points. I hope that everyone enjoys this little chapter! Thanks so much for sticking with me!_

* * *

**The Avenger  
Chapter Five: Journey**

* * *

The hot, vibrant sun beat down on the back of my head as I frantically raced across the desert.

I wasn't sure what I was running from, but I knew what I was _supposed _to be running from. I removed my gaze from my feet to stare straight ahead, the desert wobbling and heaving like the ocean out in front of me. A part of me felt as if I should try to swim through it, and yet the other part of me knew that it would be the worst decision possible.

The atmosphere around me was tense; I could hear the warped shouting of my comrades behind me, ushering me on, prodding me forward. I wasn't sure what I was headed towards, but I knew that where I was going was where I was supposed to be, so I trucked onward.

There was a name spilling from my lips. Whose name, I had no clue, but it was desperate, rasping from my parched throat as if it were the last thing I was capable of doing. My hands blindly reached out for something. I could see the sand that had accumulated on my arms due to their sweat-slicked surface.

My mind was frantic, actions undetermined. Whirling images flashed across my vision.

I reached out to clasp a hand. Firm and unyielding. Tentatively, gloved fingers wrapped around my own.

"_Please_!" I shouted -

"Amber! Yo!"

I was startled out of sleep so violently that I fell off of the couch where I had been nested the entire night.

I looked up at Stump's grinning, stupid face through a tangled mass of dark hair. I shoved my mop out of my face before I attempted to straighten myself slightly, pressing my back against the bottom of the couch and glaring up at him. A blanket had been placed over me sometime during the night and was now tangled around my legs, one of which was still on the cushions of the couch. Don't ask. I wasn't even sure how I was able to flex that much without dislocating something.

"What the hell is your problem, Stump?" I snarled, looking up at him. I tried to make my glare as vicious as possible, but came up short, seeing as I still had the remnants of sleep in my eyes.

"It's ten in the morning," Stump said matter-of-factly. "We decided to let you sleep, but if we're going to make time, then we need to leave around twelve. Since you're a girl and all, I figured it'd take you at least two hours to eat and shower and get dressed - "

"I will punch you."

Stump waved his hand at me, dismissing me like I was a bothersome fly. I rose from my seat, ignoring him steadfastly, and then went to rifle through my belongings. I pulled out a pair of my most comfortable jeans along with a tank top and new undergarments before walking to the bathroom to shower.

Crank stood in the small, cramped kitchen, and looked as if he was cooking breakfast. "Eggs, bacon, and grits good with you, squirt?"

I grumbled something that sounded like an agreement before shutting the bathroom door behind me.

The hot water of the shower was welcome, almost like an old friend. Steam rose from the scalding water, and I breathed in several times, as if to calm myself. I couldn't help but feel suffocated as I thought of that dream. It was a crippling sort of feeling, almost as if I'd had the breath knocked from my lungs.

I tried not to think about it.

I finished my shower, got dressed, and headed back into the main portion of the motel room. I didn't realize how clinical I was in my movements. My thoughts were of nothing but the next task. I supposed it was a way of self-preservation before I went crazy trying to decipher the dream.

It would certainly be ironic if, after all I'd been through, the thing to derail my sanity was a dream.

"Impressive," Stump commented from his seat at the small, rickety-looking kitchen table. Crank was playing the role of Martha Stewart and scraping freshly scrambled eggs onto a plate nearby. My stomach growled in response. "That shower only took thirty minutes."

I busied myself with pulling my wet hair back into a bun at the nape of my neck. Of course there would be no hairdryers in this place. Of course I'd forget to bring my own. I could picture it now, sitting unused in the Martinezes' bathroom, and sighed in exasperation.

I plopped down into the seat adjacent to Stump and then lightly bopped him on the shoulder with my fist as if in reprimand. "Shut up."

"No fighting, children," Crank said. It was odd, hearing him use that tone of voice. It was light, almost joking, and yet it was monotone. Stranger things have happened, I supposed.

He turned and placed the large plate of eggs onto the center of the table. That was followed by a huge bowl of grits and a plate of bacon.

"When did we go grocery shopping?" I asked.

"Stump went out this morning," Crank said as the aforementioned soldier reached forward greedily and started scooping tons and tons of the food onto his plate. I glowered at him. "Milk or orange juice?"

Blinking at Crank's completely strange and normal question, I looked at him and said, "You know."

"I was just wondering if you felt adventurous, is all," Crank commented, walking over to the fridge and pulling out the orange juice.

"Not in that way," I told him.

Crank scoffed and poured me a glass of juice, before taking out the milk and giving it to Stump to refill his own glass.

I didn't feel that hungry, but my stomach growled and Crank told me to eat. To appease him, I did. I piled on the food - whatever Stump hadn't eaten, to be precise - and started to shovel it all in my mouth. Crank had fixed a bowl of oatmeal for himself and ate quietly at the spot across from me.

A silence enveloped us then - quiet and easy, the type of silence formed around close friends.

"What's the plan for today, then?" Stump asked before draining the leftover milk from his glass.

Another silence came over us then, this silence tense, weighted.

I sat silently then, nursing my orange juice and fiddling with the two pieces of bacon I had procured from the plate in front of me.

Crank, however, spoke up. Loud and clear. Just like him.

"Trying not to get killed," he said. "That's all the plan I got."

Stump nodded. "All the plan I need."

I scoffed. That wasn't what I had in mind at all.

I, at least, wanted to take one of those monsters down with me.

* * *

Leaving the comfort - if I could call it such - of the motel was as liberating as it was suffocating. As if stepping out into the bright sun was the beginning of the end of...well, whatever this was.

Crank was nothing if not punctual. We left at twelve right on the dot, venturing away from the motel and into the beginnings of the New Mexico desert.

As soon as I saw the smooth pavement give way to a dirty, barely there, dirt road, I knew that things were about to change. Just seeing the desert up close was enough to give me a sense of realism about everything. About what I wanted to accomplish, what I was willing to lose in the process, what I _wasn't _willing to lose.

As I was thinking these things, my phone vibrated in my pocket.

Sighing, I took the device from my pocket and glanced at it. _1 new message_ flashed on the screen. I flipped through the options and finally opened the message. Seeing it was from Missy, I automatically smiled.

_I hope everything's going well at your new college. Everything's fine here. Daniel won't stop singing old, sad, blues songs about how he misses you. Hope to hear from you soon. Love ya, chica._

A smile came across my face, accompanied by the familiar pang of homesickness. I pushed it back, not allowing myself that once moment of reflection. I couldn't allow for nostalgia. I couldn't allow the two soldiers in the front of the vehicle see how much I missed home, because then they'd try to convince me to head back there.

And I couldn't. I just _couldn't._

I texted back, telling Missy how great the campus was and how many cute guys I'd counted already. I knew that last comment would get a disapproving head-shake, and the thought made me smile. I told her to tell Daniel to get over it and channel his sadness into writing his own songs. I told her I loved and missed her, and I hit the 'send' button.

It was just after I sent the message that we reached the point where there was no cell signal whatsoever.

"Point of no return," I announced to the dead silence of the car. "No cell service."

Stump laughed at that, and I was glad I was at least able to make him laugh.

Crank shook his head as we approached something vaguely resembling a building. "No," he interrupted. "_There's _the point of no return."

I leaned forward between the two front seats to get a better look.

Stump laughed as he stared at the map in front of him. "Last gas station for miles," he commented. "Point of no return indeed."

I looked over Crank's shoulder and saw that the gas gauge was nearing empty. "Just in time, apparently," I commented. Crank scoffed and swatted me out of his space as he pulled in front of the gas pump.

"Sketchy," Stump commented as he got a good look at the place.

I had no choice but to agree with him. The station definitely seemed as if it had seen better days. The building was weather-worn and shabby. I wondered if anyone even worked here at all, but that question was answered when an old, grizzled man stumbled out of the front door, a cigar in his mouth and a friendly grin on his face. The nametag on his coveralls read _Jeb_.

"Wha' can I do ya fer?" he asked as Crank got out and shut the door behind him.

"I just need to fill up the tank," Crank replied, jabbing a thumb over in the direction of the car. He then rummaged in one of his pockets and pulled out what appeared to be a crumpled ten and twenty dollar bill. "I think that should be enough."

Jeb nodded and took the cash. "I'll go get tha' fixed fer ya."

Stump looked over to me as we watched as the old man hobbled back into the gas station. "Well...he's a character."

"I guess."

Jeb reached the door of the gas station and was greeted by a small girl in a red hooded jacket, the hood brought up to cover the entirety of her face. My eyebrows knitted in confusion, not because he had a companion, but because of the fact she was wearing a jacket in this heat. At that moment, Jeb decided to turn around. As soon as he saw we were looking at him, he guided the girl into the station quickly, as if hiding a secret.

"That was weird," I commented.

"More than weird," Stump concurred.

Silence fell around us. I wasn't sure what to say, and I didn't know why, but there was something that felt odd about this situation. As if supporting my feelings about the whole thing, I saw movement from inside the station. It was a figure too large to be either Jeb or the girl, with a bald head that almost scraped the ceiling of the building.

And then, just like that, it vanished.

"Did you see - "

It was then Crank decided to scare the living daylights out of both of us by yanking the driver's side door open and climbing in. Stump let out a rather ladylike shriek and I gave a gasp. Crank looked at the two of us like we were insane.

"The hell, you guys?"

"There was a thing in the thing and it scared us," Stump said, pointing to the gas station.

"Oh, that tells me _so _much," Crank replied, sarcasm dripping from every syllable.

Crank started the car and we were off, pulling along the road that was highlighted on my map. It was a different pathway than normal, and that was expected.

"It was this...guy. Huge guy. Looked...weird." Stump motioned with his hands fervently, as if trying to make his point.

"Well, _you _look weird, and you don't see me freaking out," Crank said, shooting him a glance out of the corner of his eye.

A strange quiet came over us, then. The vehicle bumped and moved along the road. Stump let the windows down after a while, and I leaned my head against one of the doors, feeling relieved as the wind battered against my hair.

I let myself become an observer to my surroundings. Everything around me was sand. The occasional plant here and there, shriveled up and waiting to die. Cacti were positioned here and there. Buzzards littered the sky, circling around what I assumed was carrion. I gave a great sigh before pulling even more of the hot air around me into my lungs. It felt a bit like I was drowning, but I wasn't sure if I could chalk that up to the heat or the fact that I was so close to my goal.

I tried to focus on other things, but I couldn't. My heart beat a furious tattoo against my chest, which only intensified as we rolled on. Closer and closer to my goal. Closer and closer to something we might not come back from.

I directed my thoughts to the cache of weapons in the back, bundled together and hidden like some dirty secret. I went over and over in my mind the steps Crank told me, remembered the feel of the cool metal of the gun in my hand, recalled the jolt of the kickback. There were knives as well, but close combat probably wouldn't be my specialty. I could kick and punch, and then there was that trick Crank taught me just days ago that I could put into use.

_Is this all really happening? _I found myself thinking. It was odd, that all my planning was actually coming to fruition. In just a few short moments, Crank notified us, we would be entering Sector 16. In just a few short moments, I would either be proven completely wrong, or we'd have a battle on our hands.

"We're crossing the border into Sector 16 now," Stump said, looking down at the map in his hands. I felt a chill crawl up my spine.

"Looks just the same as the other parts of the desert," I commented blandly.

Crank scoffed; Stump gave a jovial chuckle.

I squinted in the distance. It was faint, but I could see the outline of some hills way off in the distance. It would possibly take us an hour to get to them, if we even got that far to begin with.

After another forty five minutes of driving, Stump exhaled in boredom. "Looks like this venture is a bust, A."

"You know it's not a bust, Stump," Crank logically pointed out. "It's a matter of finding - "

As I listened to Crank and Stump's debate on whether I had led them on a wild goose chase or not, I let my eyes drift out of focus. If I hadn't been so wired on adrenaline, I would have fallen asleep. I sat up straighter and glanced out the window a ways, finding nothing out of the ordinary except...

A figure in the distance.

"What?" I mumbled to myself. I was suddenly ramrod straight in my seat, fingers pressed on the lower portion of the open window and then craning my head out to see better. The wind blustered my face; I could practically taste the sand as it was whipped up around me.

Crank turned around slightly. "What are you doing?"

I pointed a finger out at the figure. As we drove forward, I could make out features. A strong build, tattered clothing, muscular, and..._normal._

"What the hell?" Stump questioned, adjusting himself in his own seat, reminding me vaguely of an excited child.

I looked to Crank, seeing his stern features contorted in a grimace. "I don't like the looks of this."

He slowed the car down, and I felt my pulse race. Was this it? Was this the person that had so ruthlessly murdered my parents and their entire unit? But...it was too big a task for one man. None of this added up.

The man came closer to our slow-rolling vehicle. I now realized he was running. Running and shouting something at us that I only had just now recognized as, "Leave! Turn around! _Please_!"

He was tall, now that I got a better look at him, and vaguely familiar. Dark hair, bright eyes. Handsome, through all the muck and grime and sand that stuck to him.

Crank stopped the vehicle and put it in park. I looked over at him in question. This whole thing seemed very fishy. I said nothing, but then looked at Stump. It was only then I realized something was very, very wrong. All the color had left his face, and his eyes were round as saucers, wild and desperate in their sockets. His slender fingers gripped his seat tightly, digging into the leather as he contorted his body to the side, as if physically holding himself back from rushing the figure.

Before I could ask what was wrong, Stump beat me to it, breaking the silence with one word - a name. A name said in such a heartbreaking manner of disbelief that it almost made my heart stop, especially when I realized just how weight that name held.

"_Mickey_?"

* * *

_**End Chapter Five.**_


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